


Like a River Runs

by carpelucem



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Female Character, Pre-Canon, the river village
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpelucem/pseuds/carpelucem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna has no time for fantasies, especially those involving the huntsman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a River Runs

**Author's Note:**

> There were few characters in the movie the Huntsman would let speak to him as she did, and the scene in the river village intrigued me.

Her breath is choppy and short, and she's sinking her teeth into his shoulder to keep the cries he pulls from her in her throat. Her room is barely that, a collection of drapes and fabric tacked to the beams separating her bed from the rest of the house. It's obvious they're coupling to anyone with ears, but she has so little to keep private, she tries to keep this, him, to herself. 

His hips slam against her, palms spread wide over her thighs, bringing her closer to completion with each thrust. She clings to his chest when she arrives first, her body tightening around him. It simply increases his stamina, and she can hear the words spilling from his lips. Kindly, she strokes his hair, urges him on, and wonders if it should hurt her that when he comes, the name he groans isn't hers.

When his eyes open, lazy with that distinctly male satisfaction that comes from being well-fucked, they lock on hers. For once, the blue is clear and focused, and he sees her and not a ghost. 

"Thank you," he offers, and she nods in understanding, their arrangement is beneficial for both of them in that way. His arms reach for her, wrap about her body and pull her close. The feel of someone next to her in bed is something she enjoys, has even missed. She knows he dreams of his wife when he sleeps with his body twined about hers. She lays no blame on his shoulder, for when night falls, she too imagines he's someone else.

Anna brooks no fantasies about a life, a future with Eric. His visits are fleeting, it's rare when he ventures to their far edge of the forest. Trading game for fish and a few hot meals, Anna enjoys his company, but tries not to dwell on him between the times he spends in their village. He teaches the girls to defend themselves with swords, offers a smile to her sisters, and provides food they can't hunt for themselves. It's a trade, a business transaction, really, and the time Eric spends in her chamber is part of that. 

He's a broken man, this huntsman, and he wears his pain cloaked over him, surrounding his body in the armor of it. He has no room in his heart for Anna, and she'd find shock were she to discover he gave her more than a passing thought once he took off through the rushes. She can't fault him. Everyone in their small community - in their kingdom - carries loss like a shawl about their shoulders. 

She benefits from his time, of that there is no doubt. The pleasure Eric brings her body is missed when he's gone, and he's a handsome enough to look upon, when he's not mired in self-pity. His wife took pride in calling him hers, most assuredly. But Anna suffers loss of her own, a husband who was conscripted to war and never returned. Her small village, the women there all bearers of the same story, protect themselves with scars and a quick suspicion for the outside world.

Eric stumbled upon them one autumn day, half-delirious from thirst and injury after losing himself in the forest. Anna, the healer among them, tended to his wounds, fed him until his mind was clear once more. 

He stayed, longer than anyone they had permitted to do so before, and the village rallied about him, lavishing him with the affection they had held in check for so long. She felt not a claim on him, it seemed as though he belonged to them all, but when Eric accompanied her home from the fire one night, when his hand framed her face and his lips touched hers in thanks, Anna invited him into the house. It was simple to say it was a matter of bodily need and that it meant nothing to her heart, for really it didn't, and Eric would see her as a woman in his life, but never the woman of his life. 

Anna has no use, past warming her bed, for someone else she could lose. She refuses to permit herself to imagine the possibility. 

It's better for them all. They tend to one another, and he leaves. 

So when he comes now, body tight like a bowstring and thrumming with fury, Anna knows her decision is for the best. There are no pleasantries between them, Eric unties his weapons and asks her if she'd meet him upstairs, if she is willing. 

Anna feels a stir of desire in her belly, can sense the thinly veiled tension and knows there is no gentleness, no affection to be found with this man tonight.

He marks her, this huntsman, with tooth and nail, the press of his need sharp like the blade of her knife down her face. She wants him to do so, to remind her why it's no use to love him, and why thoughts of a life together are futile and empty. His body looms over hers, large and unyielding, and she accepts him into her bed, between her thighs, because her ache for him is just as violent. 

Eric takes no preamble, spares not a moment for pretty words or soft touches. He wraps a hand in her hair and bares her neck to his mouth, scrapes a trail down to her breast, where his teeth nip rather than soothe and his fingers untie the knots of her dress. She works to free him of his clothing, the leather laces tangling under her shaking hands, and when his chest is bared to her, Anna set to marking him, too. Her mouth suckles a series of red welts across his ribs and her nails score his back when he pushes her down, settles between her legs. 

He pushes into her with a sudden, blinding force, his body tight against Anna as he moves in her. She gives as he takes and then, he rocks back onto his knees, bringing her with him. Eric settles Anna into his lap, arms wrapped about her like she's an anchor in a storm. He buries his face in the spill of her hair, and she can soon feel damp strands of it plaster themselves to her shoulder. Looping her hand around Eric's neck, Anna strains upward to meet him, gasping breaths booming like cannons in the quiet house. 

She is chasing the release she seeks with each snap of his hips against her body, tension mounting in her hurried movement, when Eric presses his mouth to hers. His lips are suddenly gentle, and when she is on the verge of coming undone, he whispers her name, just once. Anna can feel her body convulse around him at the sound of his voice, at his hand spread between her shoulders, sliding down her spine. Eric's pulling her in closer as he buries himself deep and her thighs clench around him as he spills, warm inside of her. 

She may have imagined the first time, but the way her chants her name when he holds her tight is not a trick of her mind.

They stay wrapped together until the air is cold on her flushed skin. Anna feels like a dishcloth from the kitchens, wrung out and limp, when Eric shifts the bedclothes back and curls around her, tugging the quilt over them. 

This time, the fear comes not when Anna can't fool herself that someone that other than Eric holds her while she sleeps. It's the flash of hope that burns in her belly as he does. 

The next morning, he's gone without a trace, a stocked game hut and the ache of her muscles the only sign of his ever having been there at all.

He doesn't come back, and Anna convinces herself it's for the best, ignoring any mention of him by the other women in the community. 

A small party from their village travels the river to market twice a year for supplies. Her sisters return with grain and meat, and news of her huntsman (something she quickly and vehemently denies) making a nuisance of himself in the alehouse. The greengrocer just shook his head when one of them inquired after him, muttering something about a public disgrace. 

Anna pushes any thoughts to the back of her mind, stifling the memory of her name on his lips, congratulating herself for not staking any claim on him. 

Two years pass and there's a shift in the air, a warmth on the breeze that's been missing for longer than Anna can remember. It's curious and unsettling, but she tries not to attribute it to the superstitions and tales the elder sisters whisper of that night. 

The next morning, there's a commotion by the docks and before she can reach the end of the piling, Anna recognizes the tall, broad shape helping someone off one of their boats. 

She steels herself against the punch in her stomach and pushes forward, through the cluster of women. 

"You're injured," she says briskly. Eric's eyes drift over her face, something raw darkening the familiar blue, and he nods. She glances at the girl, and Anna feels the breath leave her body in a rush, recognizing her in an instant. Worse, she sees the hunger in Eric's gaze when he eyes the young princess and curses herself for ever worrying over him in the least.

She senses the tension in his body when she tends to his wound, a bitter corner of her mind knows that she's favoring speed and efficiency over his care and comfort. 

"Anna," he starts and she shakes her head. It's the past, and Anna has always been a pragmatist. No one will benefit from traveling that path again and Anna can't find any possible reason to compete with a girl - that particular girl - for something that has always been out of Anna's grasp. 

“Go to her,” she urges, because Anna has no other choice. Watching them with one another, the way he looks at her when she speaks, that concentrated focus - Anna has to turn back to the children, to tend to the meal for the guests in their midst.

That night, he leaves, and the only person surprised he’s gone is the princess. When the smoke is acrid in the sky, choking her throat, Anna wants to hate the girl, leave her to burn with the memories of the one who left them both behind, who brought this destruction to the life she created. 

But the girl, Snow, surprises Anna, gathering the children, pushing them onto boats and refusing to leave until they are safe. Snow is a pragmatist, too, so when Anna sees Eric thunder across the reeds, screaming Snow's name, she pushes the girl into his arms. He shouts his thanks to her as they run. 

It's a trade, business, a smart decision to switch the girl for the lives of her sisters. 

Anna has no time for fantasies, especially involving the huntsman. But the look of gratitude in Eric's eyes, the understanding there, it sparks a familiar hope inside of her, despite the wreckage left behind her. 

Her future will never be with him, but it just might endure because of him.


End file.
